


Not Jealous

by ellebb



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Bar Fight, Canon-Typical Violence, F/M, Hand Jobs, Jealousy, Slightly rough, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-10
Updated: 2016-05-10
Packaged: 2018-06-07 15:01:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,203
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6810205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ellebb/pseuds/ellebb
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written to respond to the flirting dialogue that keeps popping up in The Third Rail after you romance Hancock. >8U</p><p>Certain citizens of Goodneighbor don't seem to respect the fact that Mayor Hancock is off the market now.  They flirt, blatantly, and Evelyn considers herself too good to be baited.</p><p>But she's at her limit, and now -- she's done with this shit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not Jealous

Evelyn considered herself the classy type. Classy enough to never say as much, of course. But before the bombs, she had been chairwoman of the Sanctuary Hills HOA. Vice-president of the local military wives organization, hostess to the Tuesday bridge club, faithful member of welcome wagons. She’d had a career; lawyer, a polished professional. She had had a permanent spot in the books at Minnie’s salon, every other Thursday, eight a.m., on the dot.

Evelyn didn’t allow the wasteland to change her overmuch. She kept her hair perfect, and her social ties firm -- albeit, bridge club had been supplanted with taking care of feral infestations and double-crossing double-crossers in Goodneighbor alleys. She would never give anyone reason to look down on her if she could help it; half of being in control was to _appear_ in control. The rest was a touch of cleverness and intuition, a familiar gun and a heavy stash of caps.

So, Evelyn let her reputation speak for her. She sure as hell wasn’t about to get into a barroom _brawl_. Especially not over something that others might construe as _jealousy_. She had appearances to keep.

But this bitch was testing her patience.

All the bitches of Goodneighbor were testing her patience.

Evelyn drew on a cigarette, and rolled the white stick between her fingers. The Third Rail hummed and rumbled as the evening drew on, the drifters and outcasts of the Commonwealth gathering to break caps off liquor bottles. To pop chemical fantasies at the altar of Mags’ voice. Evelyn sat beside Hancock, neither quite far enough in their cups to be entwined, flushed. The evening was still young, and the gin was cold (at least), but she was in a sour mood.

MacCready was with them, sitting across from their couch with a beer and a smart joke. The three of them had rolled into town just hours ago, and sat down to cool off from the road. And then this woman, a ghoul and a frequent customer of Hancock’s drug supply, sauntered over to their corner like she was the hottest shit since the nukes fell.

“Hey ya, Hancock. Been a long time. You back for another tour of the town?”

That fucking smirk. Like she was so fucking clever, with her stupid cliché line.

“Sorry, I ain’t a tourin’ ghoul anymore. The one I got ain’t the type you go wandering on.”

Bless him, but he was sweet.

Hancock patted Evelyn’s thigh, and pointedly dismissed the woman with a flick of his tricorn. Smirk still in place, she shrugged. As she left, she nodded at Evelyn in mock respect, drifting back to her table of other drifters. They giggled as the ghoul woman rejoined them, staring over their shoulders at the mayor.

Evelyn pulled another drag off her cigarette.

Every now and then, this happened. Some citizen of Goodneighbor would see Hancock, sidle up with heady eyes and tongues dripping with flirtations. Hands that lingered too long and shirts with one too many buttons undone. Ghouls with those gravel voices that promised the filthiest of discourse, smoothskins with generous bodies. Evelyn was aware of the mayor’s experience. Oh, yes. She frequently thanked her lucky stars for all that experience.

She would never judge anyone for their pasts, whether virginal or prolific. That wasn’t it. It wasn’t even that the flirting happened now that she and Hancock were committed to one another. She trusted him to rebuff any inappropriate advances; he did so often, firmly. Just like he trusted her to take care of her own unwanted admirers. She did so often, firmly, with a flick of her cigarette and a nod in Hancock’s direction. No, it wasn’t that she distrusted him, or that she was insecure about his desire for her.

It was the way this bitch, and the other bitches like her, would do this blatantly in Evelyn’s face. Everyone knew by now who kept the mayor’s bed warm, but they did it anyway. They knew she would say nothing, and looked down on her for it. A clash of cultural values, if you will. Where Evelyn felt it beneath her to react to such obvious provocation, these women and men that had touched Hancock before her smelled blood. In the Commonwealth, you guarded what you had by whatever means necessary. Anything else was weakness.

Despite the reputation her rifles had earned her, all the deals she had brokered to improve settlements, and all the muscle she had in her pocket -- they flirted with Hancock because they thought her weak.

And she was done with this shit.

Evelyn pulled away from Hancock. She stubbed out her cigarette in an ashtray on the wobbly coffee table, littered with old glasses and mysterious powders, empty chem syringes. Amongst the paraphernalia, she carefully placed her gin, with its precious ice cube that was more valuable than the liquor itself. Unfolding her joints, she stood.

“Watch my drink,” Evelyn commanded.

MacCready and Hancock stopped what they were doing to stare at her sudden change. She ignored them, rolling her shoulders casually.

“Boss?”

Evelyn stepped around the merc and his surprised enquiry. The Third Rail was crowded by now. Charlie was at the far end of the bar, chewing someone out; probably a bum looking for a handout. His tinny cockney rang through the smog and the bar’s roar, the speakers dominating it all. Magnolia crooned and swayed, all the while watching as Evelyn left the mayor’s side.

Few others noticed, though. Few noticed as she rolled the sleeves of her ballistic-lined jumpsuit up over her elbows, revealing golden skin. Few turned to watch her step around the tables, a vague half-smile on her face for the people who nodded to her, the ones she’d helped, or the ones she owed a favor or two. Not even the table full of women noticed her snaking her way through the dilapidated, mismatched furniture.

But MacCready and Hancock were watching her. They watched her leave, after she had gotten so quiet.

“What’s she doing?” MacCready asked.

“Uh,” Hancock said. He looked down at the jet inhaler in his hand, and he looked back up at Evelyn’s back. When she turned her head, he could see she had a strange not-smile on her face. He put down the jet.

And she still had that not-smile on her face when the ghoul woman’s table finally noticed her only a few steps away from them. And she still wore that strange upturn of her lips, glazing in her black upswept eyes, when the woman who asked Hancock to ‘tour her town’ finally turned around -- and had an elbow plunged into the exposed cartilage of her missing nose.

The other women screamed, more in surprise than anything, as the ghoul was knocked to the floor. Chairs flew aside, clattering chaotically, and the table, already propped on three legs, tumbled with a thundering crack.

Evelyn ignored the sudden bedlam, and before the ghoul woman or her friends could react she grabbed the much lighter woman by the collar. She pulled her up and thrust her knee into a flat, bony chest. Evelyn let go, and the other woman fell back, stumbling on her feet and gasping.

Evelyn straightened. A circle had suddenly cleared around her. She strutted a little, looking down her nose at the ghoul.

“You disrespected me. So we’re gonna hash this out like women. Right here, right now.”

The woman glared at her. Blood was seeping out of her nostrils, and she was bent over a little, as if to protect her busted chest.

“Fine,” she spat. She lunged like a viper at Evelyn, taking her by surprise.

On the other side of the room, MacCready had unabashedly climbed on top of the couch to stare at the fight over the shouting, laughing crowd. His mouth hung open. Beside him, Hancock, slack-jawed, stared as well, the forgotten cigarette in his hand burning down to the filter. Ham, having heard the noise and run down the stairs, stopped when he saw _who_ was fighting. He waded through the crowd to the mayor’s side.

“So, what’s the protocol on this one, boss?” Ham dead-panned.

Hancock looked down at his stinging fingers and dropped the cigarette, crushing it with his boot. He peered back up to watch his girl drop and let the lunging ghoul impale herself on her raised elbow. Evelyn tossed the other woman back with a fierce snarl.

“Should probably stop this,” Hancock said, in an aside to his bouncer.

“Probably?” asked Ham.

Evelyn took a flailing fist on the jaw. That was gonna bruise. She’d be pissed in the morning; Evelyn was vain. In retaliation, she kneed the ghoul woman in the thigh and her own fists haphazardly hit her in the tit.

“Shi- uh, I mean,” MacCready stammered. “Did you know she could scrap like that, Hancock?”

“Uh,” Hancock said.

Ham sighed.

Screeching from the sudden pain of the woman clawing her neck, Evelyn pulled back. She kept her breathing even. This was why she hated close-range combat. Undignified, and too many wild variables. She was a long-range sort of girl. Snipe things off when you can, and clean up with quiet feet and a short-barrelled assault rifle.

Still, she knew a thing or two about fist fights. Knees and elbows are more accurate than fists, or God forbid, idiotic flying kicks. Adrenaline makes you weaker, not stronger. And use your environment to your advantage.

Evelyn flung a chair at the ghoul’s stupid fucking face. It was batted away awkwardly, and Evelyn barrelled forward, knocking the lighter woman to the ground again. Scissoring legs swept under her, tangling her feet. Evelyn cursed, wobbling as she tried not to fall. She was a long-range sort of girl. If her maneuvers were naive, and not quite as fast or experienced, so what? She wasn’t letting this little shit get the better of her.

Stumbling, she let the ghoul close the gap between them, and Evelyn’s hair -- her black, lovely, carefully arranged hair -- was yanked viciously. A razor-like knee jackknifed into her stomach. Pain arched up from her navel into her spine. Evelyn’s breath was whipped from her. She grit her teeth against it, and used her legs to shove, bodily, up against the hand tangled in her hair. She and the ghoul fell pell-mell against the tight crowd of jeering, cheering drifters and scavvers. They scattered, laughing.

Evelyn kept bull-rushing the ghoul woman, repeatedly thrusting the heel of her palm into the ribs by her head. The woman grunted until she cried out, screeching, when the pair hit the stairs. Evelyn smiled grimly. She had her now.

Hancock, eyes locked onto the fighting women, climbed over the back of a squatty chair to get a better view. Evelyn was shoved up against the ghoul, using her entire body to stifle her movement. Her chest trapped the thinner chest beneath her, her thicker thighs pinning the woman’s chicken legs between them. The ghoul woman bawled and groaned as Evelyn shoved her thigh up into her groin savagely. Hancock’s hand waved vaguely around his mouth for a long moment until he realized he didn’t have a cigarette.

MacCready whistled, low and impressed. Ham gave up trying to get the mayor’s attention. The Third Rail rumbled with noises of delight and Roman fervor. Charlie, at some point, had started a betting pool. And Magnolia was at the front of the circle around the fight, screaming with the best of them.

They were on the ground now, Evelyn straddling the ghoul.

“Pay-”

A hand rose dramatically and swooped down dramatically, fingers tucked into a fist, to crack against the ghoul’s cheek.

“Attention-”

_Crack._

“You cunt-”

 _Crack_.

“I’m-”

 _Crack_.

“ _Teaching you a lesson._ ”

Evelyn leaned back, panting heavily. Moaning softly, the other woman was prone. The crowd stilled. Evelyn stood slowly, and she turned about slowly to look everyone in the face. Her revolution brought her back around to her mewling, defeated opponent. Evelyn spat on her.

“This bitch,” she said, pulling out a pack of cigarettes and a lighter, “was the first.”

The lighter illuminated her sweaty face, her wild eyes, as she lit the cigarette dangling from her mouth. She pulled and blew white fog into the air.

“And she can be the last. If we handle things my way, like _civilized fucking adults_. But we can handle things this way, too.” She gestured at the ghoul woman.

Evelyn smiled. “I’d be more than happy to oblige. But if any of you goddam bitches step up to what’s mine again, I won’t be nearly as kind.”

Her smile widened, leonine.

Hancock pushed through the crowd. He cleared his throat loudly.

“Alright, alright. Ladies and gents, show’s over. Go on, shoo.”

He gestured at them with one arm while the other slid around Evelyn’s waist, pulling her in. She stared at him, still breathing roughly and her eyes wide and hard. She flicked her cigarette and turned to peer over the slowly dispersing crowd. Chatter and laughter resumed.

“We should get outta here,” Hancock murmured into her neck.

She ignored him for the moment.

“Charlie! A round on me for the house,” she called loudly.

The Third Rail boomed with a cheer. Hats were tipped in her direction, heads nodded respectfully. There. That was more like it. Nothing showed your superiority like dominating a cat fight and following up with a generous wallet. And by the looks on the faces of the ghoul woman’s friends, the Goodneighbor citizenry would think twice about flirting with Hancock again.

Evelyn turned her head to look at said mayor. His eyes had that excited glint that always stirred her up, and his wandering hands knew it.

“Now _you_ ,” she muttered.

“Now _me_ ,” he smirked.

She disentangled herself from his grasp, catching one of his hands in hers. She tugged him up the stairs, her steps more of a run than a walk.

“Don’t wait up, MacCready!” Hancock bellowed over the din, towards the corner where the merc watched them leave, eyes still wide with disbelief.

Evelyn dragged Hancock up the stairs and into the ruined bathrooms to the side of the Third Rail’s entry. A couple of stoners were shooting up and lounging against the stalls, but they scrambled out when Evelyn snarled at them.

She pushed Hancock against the filthy wall with her mouth. She pressed against him, pinning him with her breasts and her hips and her thighs. They were about the same height, but he was lighter. Deceptively skinny, she knew he could push her off, turn her and pin her just as roughly. So it struck her to the core all the more that he simply yielded to her bruising mouth and insistent hands.

Her lips thrust against his corded skin, following a violent line from under his ear along his jaw. He inhaled sharply as she bit into him on his neck, mouthing and sucking along his jugular.

“You gonna teach me a lesson too, love?” Hancock laughed, his voice strained, thick and deep with heat.

Evelyn pulled away enough to look him in the eye. She ground her hips into his, sliding a thigh up to press into his groin. Quite pleased with the stiff erection she found there, her breath quickened again.

But she kept her stare steady as she said, “Let’s get one thing straight, Mayor John Hancock.”

She jerked at the flag around his waist, tossing it aside and shoving her hands down his pants. He groaned like a wounded animal.

She hissed, “I’m a girl with class. And I don’t get jealous.”

He laughed, “What d’you call all that back there then?”

His hands sneaked up from where her upper arms had his upper arms pinned, her hands squeezing his dick with just enough pressure, and he palmed her ass. She pulled back and slapped his hands away. His chest rattled with a sad little hum as her touch left.

“I don’t get jealous,” Evelyn growled.

She spat on her hands and snapped them back to his cock, gripping now with an uncomfortable pressure and thumbs rubbing along the head, sliding in precum. Hancock moaned. She thrust her shoulders against his to fully pin him, their faces pressed together and his tricorn tipped back. His black eyes were heavy with need. He tried to kiss her, but she turned her head and sucked along his jaw, letting his lips land somewhere in her undone hair.

She let back on her grip a little, one hand rubbing the opening, teasing the head, as the other stroked along the shaft, much more gently than her hard eyes had promised. One tender stroke, a second. And Evelyn’s hand began to pump out a rhythm. Hancock gave up trying to touch her, instead leaning back and letting out a long, loud sound that transitioned from a hum to a groan. Evelyn stared at him, her face pressed up against his neck, her hands working. He smelled of liquor and gunpowder and hot flesh. His mouth was slightly parted, his eyes thin and drifting in pleasure.

Evelyn struggled to keep her breath from turning into a pant. The sounds Hancock was making (goddam but he was always so loud), the feeling of his textured, wet cock in her hands -- it left her hot and slick, and she wanted him inside her. But she wanted this even more; him at her mercy, and her, and her alone, responsible for his every shudder, gasp, and curse.

Hancock’s lips twitched, like he could read her mind.

She frowned, and quickened her pumping, her other hand suddenly reaching down to squeeze his balls. She released, massaged.

“Oh, love,” he moaned. “Let me touch you.”

“Don’t you fucking dare,” she said, nipping his neck again. His breath thrummed against her lips.

His hips thrust into her hands, and she countered with even faster strokes. He was close, and her own sex twitched with their motion, their smell, and the sound of their breathing and the wetness of his flesh in her hands. Her tits ached against his chest.

“ _Evelyn_.”

“Go on,” she gasped. “Come for me.”

He trembled with release, his hands flying up to grip her hips, fingers leaving sharp indents. Her hands stroked him through it, his cum partly caught in one hand and the rest falling to the tiled floor.

Hancock groaned in relief. She let back on the pressure of her body against his, and she touched her clean hand to his face. Her thumb caressed his corded cheek. And she kissed him, fully and tenderly, lips chasing his softening breaths.

He chuckled. “Your not-jealousy satisfied yet?”

“Not nearly,” she sighed, holding the back of his neck, peppering his face with little feather touches from her lips.

His hands pulled her hips close again.

“Well,” Hancock said, grinning. “I’m ready to be taught any lesson you’re teaching. You have my full attention. Always.”

He said the last, _always_ , with a deepness, and a seriousness, that caught her. She stilled, staring at him. Hancock laid his thin, warm lips on her forehead.

She swallowed.

“The Rexford?” he whispered.

“The Rexford,” she said, taking his hand again.

 _Always_.


End file.
